


Facsimile

by AcidGreenFlames



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Shameless Smut, Smut, Sticky Sex, hurt/comfort smut, warning: ooc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 05:03:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcidGreenFlames/pseuds/AcidGreenFlames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Combaticons must face the truth of what Megatron did to them. The question is, will it break them or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Darkness_Rising for doing the beta work on my ficlet and helping me to work out the kinks.   
> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything, I’m just playing in the sand box.

Destruction surrounded him, it was all over the base. He had lost it in his office, after fighting off the anger until he managed to make it to his small space, then when the rage had finally hit him, he flipped his desk over, destroying every data pad, and smashed the chairs.

Holes were torn into the walls, actually causing his knuckles to crack, a slow leak of energon dripping down his fist. Then, after decimating his office, Onslaught took his rage out on the rest of the base. He was a massive ball of fury, destroying everything he touched, burning everything he looked at to the ground.

Lights had been torn straight from their housing units, screens had been destroyed, and sparks showered down from countless spots.

In a fit of rage, Onslaught had thoroughly destroyed his base; halls lay in shambles with rocky debris littering the walkways, smoke clogging the air.

The other Combaticons had fled to their quarters when they heard their commander lose it, when he finally snapped; and they knew he would, as whatever had snapped twisted brutally in the bulky mech’s broken spark.

The others stayed hidden away until the loud noises stopped, until the crashing, the gun fire and smashing stopped. They stayed out of sight until the screaming and raging ceased and a thick silence filled the space where noise had once roared.

Only then did the other Combaticons slowly filter out of their little hovels to slowly pick their way through the wreckage, to find their commander.

Blast Off found him first, sitting in the middle of what used to be their mess hall; the energon dispensers wrecked, tables broken into pieces. Most of the lights had been destroyed, the few lights left casting an eerie glow and long shadows around the room.

On his knees, broken visor focused on the ground between his thighs, servos open in his lap, Onslaught looked more like a crumpled ball, nothing compared to what he really was. What he used to be.

Energon pooled in his palms while it leaked from a crack in his battle mask as the usually proud commander just stared brokenly at his servos.

The shuttle sighed softly as he forced his anxiety down, his own discomfort rolling in his chest, the truth of what had happened no easer on him than it was on Onslaught; his commander just dealt with it differently than he did.

Kneeling on the ground next to the shattered gestalt leader, Blast Off was silent as he took the massive servo and tugged it into his own lap. Onslaught didn’t move as the shuttle did so, didn’t even look up as Blast Off pulled a small med kit from his subspace to wrap the wounds.

Brawl came in next, with Swindle nearly hiding behind the massive tank, purple servos clinging to his gestalt mate’s armoured elbow. His tan helm dipped low as he pressed into the green plates in front of him while Brawl’s red visor examined the scene, both ready to bolt should their commander loose it again.

But for now he was calm and silent, allowing Blast Off to quietly wrap his servo. Shoulders squaring, Brawl took Swindle’s servo from his elbow and held it tightly, twining their digits. Nearly dragging the jeep into the room, and having to step over the broken pieces of the tables and chairs, Brawl led Swindle to sit next to Blast Off.

None of them said a word, their gestalt bond open a sliver between them, awkward and new, still too fresh for what should have been an established bond. 

Swindle shifted nervously next to Brawl, pressing himself a little tighter into the tank’s body. He was trying to hide, to disappear into the warmth that was Brawl, he too just as miserable as the rest of his team.

Blast Off set one servo aside and picked up the other to begin the process anew, gently wrapping Onslaught’s servo tightly.

Brawl heaved a shaky sigh through his vents, mouth working. “We’re going to be okay, right Ons?”

Onslaught’s helm tipped up, broken visor flickered as it focused on his subordinate, Blast Off freezing next to him. Rage ripped through Onslaught, hot and bright, dragging a deep growl from his chest, causing Brawl to flinch back.

Than a massive servo snapped up to the broken yellow visor, ripping it from his helm, tearing the little hooks clean off as he hurled the cracked glass across the room. Brawl winced as the reinforced glass bounced once and skidded across the floor, coming to a stop at Vortex’s pedes as he stood by the door.

Dull red optics tracked the object as it skidded across the broken floor, bouncing lightly off his pede. Shoulders low, rotors sunken, Vortex’s dull optics never left the floor as a gentle sigh heaved from the copter.

Vents hitching at the sight, Vortex stepped over the visor as Blast Off drew Onslaught’s servo closer to his body while Yellow optics dropped back to the ground, almost brokenly. Reaching the group, the interrogator dropped to sit next to his commander on the cold, hard ground with the rest of his gestalt.

Brawl tried again. “I know this is bad Ons, but…we’re going to be okay, right?” 

_They weren’t sure who had sent them the surveillance video._

When Blast Off finished binding Onslaught’s servo, he didn’t push it from his lap, instead he gently cupped it, fighting off the next wave of desolation. The gestalt bond hummed with depression, loss, and weakness; all things the Combaticons were not known for.

_They would likely never know who had sent them that video. No one would ever admit to it, fear of Megatron’s wrath at having revealed the secret, sealing their silence._

_The Combaticons had all gathered around when the data chip had appeared in their base, curious to find out what it was, and how it got there._

Things had been normal then, the gestalt bond closed tightly. They didn’t need one another then, they were strong alone. But what played on that video changed all of that. It broke them, shattered them, and through their pain it drew them together.

_The video played, the screen flickering to life, and the gestalt was surprised to see themselves, their five bodies laid out on five berths. Optics were dark and empty as they lay in forced stasis, wires and leads stringing like spiders webs from their open helms, processors exposed._

_Megatron stood before them, Shockwave at his side as they regarded the vulnerable gestalt._

_“It would be a shame to have to kill them.” Megatron shrugged, one massive shoulder guard lifting in a half shrug. “They are too powerful a gestalt to destroy, they even had Optimus Prime worried.”_

_Shockwave nodded in agreement, single optic bobbing. “Indeed. But to release them now, when loyalty is not ensured, would be foolhardy, my lord.”_

_Megatron sighed as he canted his helm towards his scientist. “It would. But, I assume you already have a plan for this?”_

_If Shockwave could have smiled, it would have been a cold, calculated smile no doubt. “Of course my lord. A loyalty patch, written directly into their core functions will solve this problem.”_

They had all shuddered at that, their lives in Shockwave’s servos, spoken so casually about.

_“The only problem, my lord, is that it is near impossible to corrupt the core programming of a mech. There are far too many firewalls to make it worth it.” Megatron frowned at his most loyal, arms crossed over his chest as Shockwave continued. “What I can do is create a copy of their personality components and their core programming, and manipulate that. The firewalls that protect the original components will not be copied, leaving it open to influence.”_

_Purple helm tipped to the prone Combaticons. “It will be much easier to wipe out their original core programming and reinstall the copy with the loyalty programme imbedded, than try to break through their natural firewalls.”_

_Megatron frowned, glancing at the gestalt that had nearly overthrown him. “Are there any negative side effecst to this?” A nasty grin spread across his face. “It seems like a good thing to do to Starscream.”_

_Shockwave’s helm turned back to his master. “I will not be able to reinstall the original fire walls, nor will I be able to make copies. The firewalls I will upload into them will be far weaker and less effective than their originals, and this will leave them open to manipulation, much easier to sway than everyone else.”_

_Megatron frowned. “A pity. I can’t have the Autobot’s manipulating Starscream, as much of a glitch that he is.”_

_The scientist nodded. “The other downside will be that the copies will not be perfect, causing memory loss, bouts of paranoia and moments of absolute nothing will be common. It is also possible that the copied versions may degrade, needing to be stabilized over time.”_

Blast Off audibly gasped at that, fear bolting through him as he thought of all the times he had found his team mates just sitting and staring at walls, mouths hung partially open, optics blank as they barely vented.

When the shuttle would shake them from their trance like state, they always roused startled, dazed and confused with no recollection of how they ended up where they were, or how long they had been there.

Often, it was Brawl he found stuck like this, but he had found the others doing in this state too. He could also recall the times when Onslaught or Vortex would wake him in the middle of a hall way, but he had no memory of how he had gotten there, or how long he had been standing there, frozen.

_Megatron nodded, smirk crawling back into place. “See it done Shockwave. I want the Combaticons up and ready as soon as it is possible.”_

_A clawed servo rested over Shockwave’s spark as he half bowed to his master, helm dipped in a nod. “Of course Lord Megatron.” The massive warlord made to turn away when Shockwave spoke again. “One more thing my Lord.”_

_Megatron half turned back to face his scientist, silent to allow the purple mech to continue. “A gestalt bond is just as powerful and deep as a mate bond. Perhaps not as strong as a twin bond, but fairly close. If they are able to work as a proper gestalt, they could overcome the loyalty programme.”_

_Megatron’s crimson optics slid back over the Combaticons prone bodies, laid vulnerable before him._

Their vulnerability wasn’t lost on each of the Combaticons; how easy it would have been for Megatron to take them out, then and there, when they had no means of defence.

_“You say the copies will make them easier to manipulate, then manipulate Swindle. He has a lust for money, the ultimate deal, have him betray his team. I don’t care how he does it, he can sell his own gestalt for all I care, just ensure that the distain and hatred towards him will prevent them from ever overcoming the loyalty programme.”_

_Shockwave nodded, glancing back at his test subjects. “Of course my Lord, but do you believe that will be enough? Will they not overcome their animosity with Swindle?”_

_A cold smile cut across the warlord’s face, blunt denta flashing in the dim light. “Not these mechs. Not Blast Off, not Brawl, not Vortex and certainly not Onslaught. They will hate him, despise him more than us. They will ostracize him, single him out amongst their unit. No, there will be no forgiveness from them, and the Combaticons will never escape the loyalty programme.”_

_Shockwave nodded, and the video cut out._

Fear crept through their lines, bleeding through the gestalt link coldly, sinking into their minds like rotten fingers digging into their processors, nails scraping along the inside of their helms. Fear was something unusual for them; they didn’t know how to cope with it, didn’t know how to process it.

They were nothing, less than nothing. They were shadows of what they once were, echoes; their lives mere copies that could, and had been, manipulated into hurting one another. Their processors fell into moments of blankness and had the possibility of degrading into nothing.

Whoever they once were, were long dead. Their original frames melted down back on Cybertron for scrap, leaving them with the inadequate bodies they had now. Their core programming, part of who they were, was nothing but a decaying copy, a broken sham, leaving fractured memories. The only thing that remained of them was their tainted sparks, dark with the blood shed of so many eons of fighting, killing and torturing, and sparks like theirs weren’t worthy of being saved or honoured, or left whole.

They were Combaticons, the ones thrown into the worst of it, expected to come back covered in life blood and be ready to go again. They were the ones to be used and abused, and who always got the raw end of deal; nothing but cheap thrills, bodies to experiment on, cannon fodder. 

It ate at them that they had been reduced to nothing, and that would never change. Most Autobots would kill them without hesitating, and Decepticons would laugh when they fell.

They were worth absolutely nothing.

“Onslaught.” Brawl’s hesitant voice cut through the silence softly, unusually hesitant and quiet, still in shock; nothing but the echo he was. “We’re going to be okay. Right?” He needed his leader’s reassurance.

The commander’s helm tipped up to four pairs of optics staring back at him, all varying degrees of worry and fear etched into each of them. Dull yellow optics fell onto purple briefly before Swindle ducked his helm again. They had been screwed over, but none of them as badly as Swindle.

Their burning hate and anger fizzled out to a dull ache behind their chest plates. The answer had been there the whole time, their means to escape the loyalty programming, lying silently within the gestalt bond and combiner programming.  

They had just been too stupid, to angry to see they had been played.

Shame and the first whisper of a rekindling anger filled Onslaught. He, out of all of them should have known better. He should have known that not even Swindle would be stupid enough to sell his own team out to humans.

Yet even he hadn’t seen past the deceit.

Closing his optics for a moment, relishing in the dark nothingness as the protective lenses covered his optics briefly, Onslaught gathered himself. Heaving a sigh, the massive mech then forced himself to his pedes, four sets of optics still on him.

The commander was silent when he reached out to Blast Off, offering to help the shuttle up before hauling Vortex to his pedes too. The copter was unusually silent, pressing his frame close to his commander’s longer than necessary, leeching what little comfort he could.

Then Onslaught reached down to Brawl, dragging the tank to his pedes before finally reaching for Swindle. The jeep blinked, surprised that a servo had been offered to him as well, and lightly he took it. Onslaught’s massive servo wrapped just as tightly around the smaller one as he pulled the con-mech to his pedes.

Moving his servo from Swindle’s to his shoulder guard, the Combaticon commander gently gave his subordinate a squeeze; the closest thing to an apology Swindle would get. They had been so cruel to him, overly so in their fit of anger.

Now they felt as hollow as Swindle did, broken beyond repair.

Onslaught took another deep vent before he turned back to the others, arms at his side. “We’re going to be fine.”  The usually brutal mech cringed at how brittle his voice sounded, how weak. “The first thing we will do is make sure our processors are not degrading. Maybe Hook can run a scan on us.” He paused, still too shocked to think clearly. “Or something.”

Processors with a core programme that contained nothing but copies of who they once were; and broken copies at that.

“Then we will find a way to beat the loyalty programme.”

Vortex shifted as he looked down, his sense of loss, loss of self, nearly screaming through the bond.

“We’ll get through this. We always do.” Onslaught said more firmly, his voice coming stronger. “We will persevere.”

“Who are you trying to convince, us, or yourself?” Vortex asked quietly, and it disturbed Onslaught to see the crazed copter so defeated.

“We will persevere because that is what we do! We are Combaticons damn it! _This_ will not be the thing to bring us down.”

Vortex stared dully at his commander before his optics dropped again, the thought slipping out into the bond before he could stop it, _I want to die._

The thought drew a strangled noise from Swindle and caused Brawl to whine. Blast Off stiffened next to his commander and Onslaught was at a loss as to what to do. Out of all of them, he had expected Vortex to shrug this off and continue on as he always had.

Shifting uncomfortably, not wanting the others to know his thoughts, Vortex shrunk into himself, armour flattening against his protoform as he tried to make himself look smaller. “We’re nothing but bad copies of who we used to be.”

They all stood there, stuck in suspended animation as they stared at Vortex, no one really knowing what to say or do. Vortex had always been a fighter, and to see him give up made the tanks of the others churn.

Onslaught was the first to move, to reach out and grasp him by his shoulders. The copter’s helm dropped lower as he stayed silent, and that was fine with Onslaught, he wanted Vortex to listen. “That is not true. We are who we were before.”

Vortex snorted, voice raspy. “Liar.”

Onslaught frowned. “Look at me.”

Vortex shook his helm no, optics pinned on the ground.

Heaving another tired sigh, Onslaught let his helm drop into the top of Vortex’s, his grip on his shoulders tightening. “We’re going to get through this. We will.” It was awkward to try to reassure another that they had reason to keep going, when Onslaught was having a hard time finding one himself. “But we need you. We’ll never get out of this hell hole without you.”

Suddenly, Swindle was at Vortex’s side, his own helm resting on the copters back, Brawl at his side, green servo stroking the interrogator’s side while the other clasped Swindle’s hand. Blast Off came to Vortex’s other side, a large, firm rock whose servo rubbed at his hub.

“We’re going to be okay.”

“We aren’t like we were before. We’re nothing.” The interrogator muttered.

Onslaught shook his helm no, his grip never loosening. “We are not nothing. We’re just going to be…” He paused for a moment. “Different to what we once were.”

Vortex said nothing as he let his team surround him, blocking out the reality a little while longer.

“And when we figure this out, we are going to kill Megatron and Shockwave for this.” Onslaught whispered roughly, pretending not to notice how Vortex pressed into his body.

The interrogator nodded. Vengeance was something he could easily get on board with. “Okay.” Vortex whispered back, praying his commander didn’t hear his vents hitch, or his engine stall.

“But you need to stay with us. We need you Vortex.”

The interrogator shrugged. “I’ll try.”

Onslaught sighed, and decided he didn’t care anymore. He tugged his subordinate into a tight hold, arms banding tightly around his shoulders. The Combaticons would never call it a hug, as they all clustered around their broken team mate, but a firm embrace that was sorely needed; it at least, made the gestalt bond sing while hidden away from the rest of the world, the Combaticons huddled together amongst the wreckage of their base, trying to put the broken pieces of themselves back together. 

 


	2. Sunstreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vortex can't cope with the truth, and he believes he is broken. Sunstreaker believes other wise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to Darkness_Rising for betaing this fic and listening to me rant about it. :) Thanks man!! 
> 
> And thank you to all who read and reviewed chapter one :)

Sunstreaker looked down at his lover, frown plastered across his face as Vortex lay desponded in his arms. The Autobot had no idea what was wrong with the Decepticon; he had been fine the week before, and the week before that, being his usual cocky self and strutting around like a god. 

Yet something was off, the interfacing had been different, more passive. Vortex had not fought him for dominance, had not partaken in their usual game of words. In fact Vortex had given up, surrendered himself to the Autobot without prompting, laying on his back with his legs splayed waiting for the gold mech to take him. 

This sudden submissiveness and lack of life disturbed Sunstreaker, causing him to worry, but a needy, aroused Vortex, open and wanting the gold Autobot had been too much for the mech, and he had not had the strength to tell the interrogator no when he had asked, asked, the Autobot to take him.   
It was a red flag if Sunstreaker had ever seen one. Vortex did not ask, he simply took what he wanted when he wanted it, and it was wrong to see the Decepticon laying back, wanting him, EM so weak that Sunstreaker’s easily over took it. 

Then those soft, nearly broken words had been whispered. Please Sunny had been uttered and Sunstreaker had been lost to his usually violent lover’s need. 

Even the interface had been different. Softer than either of them were willing to admit they were capable of, slower, deeper somehow. It was like Vortex was trying to tell Sunstreaker something, something that was too hard for him to put into words, but the message had been lost in translation.   
Then, when the snarking and mouthing off to each other should have taken place as it always did after they came together, didn’t come, Sunstreaker worried.

Vortex had turned his back to his Autobot lover, rotors snug against his back as he curled into a small ball, the feeling of being worthlessness flickering though his EM. Sunstreaker frowned, not liking seeing Vortex, who by rights should have been crazy and wild, so lost; so Sunstreaker had done the only thing he could think of, had done what he did for his twin when Sideswipe was so low, and he curled around Vortex’s frame. He became the protective shell that would shield his lover from whatever ailed him, whatever it was. The former gladiator was strong and powerful, and he could handle Vortex’s woes as well as his own. He would be the ‘copters rock.

Primus knew how many times Vortex had done it, surprisingly, for him. When a Decepticon sympathiser had wound up at Nemesis, and Vortex had found out this particular mech had dared harm his Autobot back in his gladiator days, Vortex had taken it upon himself to ensure that said sympathiser never saw the light of day again. 

So Sunstreaker wrapped himself around the Decepticon, arms banding tight around his waist and chest, twining their legs as he nuzzled his neck. “Vortex,” the Autobot had whispered, not daring to push when his lover was so off. “What’s happened?” 

The shrug of a single shoulder was his response, so the usually maniacal Autobot tried again, his patience with Vortex could only be rivaled by his patience with Sideswipe. “Is someone dead?” 

Vortex actually froze at that comment, his entire frame going still, the gears in his body whining. “I am.” He rasped. 

Concerned, Sunstreaker pressed for more information, all to no avail. Vortex refused to speak, refused to say what he meant by his words until he had passed out from exhaustion, falling into an uneasy recharge. The Lamborghini still didn’t get his answer when the interrogator woke up and the Autobot was forced to return to his own base once more. 

It was only then, when Sunstreaker was safe back in his own base did the Autobot find out what was wrong. Through the grapevine of gossip and rumor, Sunstreaker found out what happened, what exactly Megatron and Shockwave had done to the Combaticons. 

Some of the others had laughed, the minibots especially had laughed at their misfortune. Had mocked Swindle when they discovered he had been forced into ripping apart his own team mates, and had laughed when it was brought to light that they could been brought to heel merely through programs.   
They had been copied, erased and left open to attack. Who they were had been destroyed, leaving only hollow shells to be manipulated. 

Oh the minibots had laughed, had howled, had found nothing more amusing than their pain.   
Sunstreaker however found nothing funny about the situation, and neither did his twin; the frontliner twins had glanced over their energon, worry in their optics as the minibots laughed around them, counting down the days until they had their free time so they could slip away to the Combaticon base. 

***

The twins sat quietly in Vortex’s cargo hold, trying not to huddle together or to hold one another’s servos while they waited silently for the end of their journey to Combaticon HQ. 

Neither of them commented on how dark Vortex’s EM felt around them. Nor how his depression seeped into every seam, every part of the twins, filling them with his hopelessness. 

::He feels like he’s given up.:: Sideswipe whispered though the bond, his tone soft and low even through the link between them. 

Sunstreaker shifted, no longer able to hold back from touching his twin, his servo tightening around his crimson counterpart’s elbow. ::It’s not just him. Brawl didn’t polish his weapons the last time we saw them, and Swindle hid in his room.:: 

Sideswipe hesitated, his own servo resting on his twins. ::I thought I heard Blast Off crying in the wash racks last time. And Ons just seemed lost.:: 

The gold twin shifted again, lower lip caught in his denta in a way he knew Vortex thought was cute. ::Their sparks are weakening. It’s like Megatron…broke them. Like actually broke them Sides! He hurt them!:: 

Rage swept through the golden twin, it bubbled and boiled under the surface, causing the younger twin to grit his denta. ::Bastards will pay for this! Megatron and Shockwave, I swear to Primus they will pay for hurting them like this!:: 

The rage Sunstreaker felt rippled through the bond, reverberating off the crimson mech’s spark and back to the younger twin. Their shared anger that the Combaticons had been so damaged, so spark hurt, echoed rage within them both. 

::They will Sunny, they will.:: The crimson twin silently vowed, a servo reaching out clenching hard at his twin’s. ::But first things first. We get them back to normal.:: 

The fin helmed nodded, angry optics focused solely on the floor.::Right. Start with our two and work our way down.:: 

They jerked when they felt Vortex begin his decent, their EMs flaring a little with worry as his usual lack of chatter, his usual joy at flying. 

Sideswipe sighed as he tightened his grip on Sunstreaker's servo. ::I hope we're not too late to save them.::

Sunstreaker nodded his agreement, fear they were too late eating at his spark; the fear of losing Vortex was very real, causing heaviness in the Autobot’s chest. He just hoped he wasn’t too late to sooth his lover’s tattered spark.

***

Vortex was tired, worn out, Sunstreaker noticed right away. His plating seemed dull and dented, as though he had been fighting, but his self-repair had not done what it should have been doing; the first sign that the Decepticon was not in taking enough energon.

His red optics, visor gone and face unmasked, were dull and dozy looking as he watched the former gladiator. Any other day Sunstreaker would have pressed Vortex into the first solid surface and teased the ‘copter into opening for him. They would have teased one another, letting their servos wander and paw, kiss hard. 

Primus, Vortex could kiss. Those soft, scarred lips and that clever glossa could send tingles through Sunstreaker; the only other capable of making Sunstreaker feel like that, and could make him moan and whimper pathetically was Sideswipe. 

Not today though. Today Sunstreaker was going to drag his Decepticon from the dark place in his mind where he was trapped and afraid, and remind Vortex who and what he really was. He would remind him of how powerful he was, and that he was to be feared by all, respected by a few and was cared for by him.

Closing the distance between their taut frames, Sunstreaker placed his servos on either side of the others face, cupping his cool cheeks. The Autobot sighed at the dull, dead optics, determined to do this and pressed a soft kiss to the other’s lips.

Vortex didn’t respond other than his optics dimming as Sunstreaker kissed him, remaining lifeless as the frontliner softly pressed his lips to the interrogator’s. When he pulled away he moved his lips to Vortex’s cheek, trailing soft kisses along the scarred silicon and to the interrogator’s nose where his lips fell still. 

Sighing again, Sunstreaker carefully wound his arms around Vortex’s neck, pushing as much care and affection into his EM as he could. He remembered how after Vortex had been forced to interrogate him once that he told the interrogator he loved him, and this revelation did not change Sunstreaker’s feelings. 

While Vortex heaved a shuddered sigh as he pressed into the other’s touch, Sunstreaker could feel his insecurity, the unworthiness the interrogator felt underlined by his difficulty in finding a reason to keep fighting; Vortex clinging to Sunstreaker as if the Autobot were his only source of joy left. 

Sunstreaker gave his own sigh, resting his helm along the top of Vortex’s as the interrogator’s rested against his chest; a feat in of itself due to Vortex’s taller height. 

Taking a deep intake of air, drawing his confidence Sunstreaker forced the words out. Awkward and hard, like forcing a lump of cold, bitter energon down; the words were gritty and dirty on the Autobot’s glossa. “Vortex. I know what happened.” 

The Decepticon snorted, face nuzzling into the golden armour, sliding along Sunstreaker’s chest to press into the frontliner’s shoulder joint. “Know what?” he mumbled, sounding far too tired, far too worn out. 

He tried to not choke on the words that clumped at his throat. “I know what Megatron and Shockwave did to you and your gestalt.” Vortex’s frame went stiff at that, his vents pausing.

“How could you possibly know about that?” The Decepticon hissed, claws catching at golden armour, and for the briefest of moments Sunstreaker felt anger simmer and flash through his EM. 

The Autobot held tighter, bracing his stance, readying for the fight. Primus he hoped, prayed Vortex fought with him; that at least would be a sign that he was still in there. 

“Bumblebee found the video in Nemesis, gave it to Cliffjumper for safe keeping. He…he ah,” the frontliner swallowed hard, blue optics glancing up to calm himself. “He watched it and made copies to…to show everyone else.” 

For a moment anger and hatred flashed through the Combaticon; the vengeful spirit that Vortex was so well known for racing like fire through the larger mech, fuelled by rage and bloodlust. Then, just as quickly it was gone, leaving Vortex hollow and empty; nothing more than the shell he was. Sagging against Sunstreaker the interrogator felt his knees go weak, his weight suddenly completely on the Autobot. 

Sunstreaker gasped as the weight shifted on to him suddenly, forcing the Autobot to lean back against the wall and slide down to sit on the floor, the limp, grey frame draped across the gold chest plates. 

“Vortex?” Sunstreaker hated to hear his own voice so small, so weak in the face of his lover’s pain. This was untested waters for the frontliner too; he didn’t know how to make this kind of hurt go away. 

It was true that Sunstreaker could, and would exact revenge on behalf of the Combaticons, but how did that help them turn this sudden weakness into a strength? It wouldn’t. Vortex and the other Combaticons needed to achieve their own revenge if they ever hoped to move past this, and to do that they needed to gut up and act like the Decepticons they were, not these broken mechs like the one Sunstreaker currently held; and reminding Vortex of exactly who he was, was something Sunstreaker could do. Reminding him that he was a creature of hate and blood, a creature with which one did not fuck with. 

“He did it.” Vortex muttered into Sunstreaker’s armour, optics dull and unable to meet the Autobots. “The bastard did it.” 

The Autobot shifted uncomfortably, drawing the Combaticon closer. “Who did what Tex?” 

“Megatron. He promised to break us, to bring us to heel.” The interrogator’s helm shook in dismay, suicidal thoughts clouding his helm. “Said he’d make us sorry for what we had done. He’d make us come crawling back to him.” 

The heli-former drew a little further into himself, drawing his armour tighter. “This is the final humiliation. He wanted everyone to see this, see how far we’ve fallen. We belong to him now.”

Sunstreaker felt his spark clench, his tanks rolling uneasily in his belly, making him feel sick. “Vortex…” 

The Combaticon looked up, optics pleading as he stared up at the frontliner. “Kill me.” Sunstreaker’s vents hitched at his lover’s request, a half answer of ‘I can’t’ trying to form when Vortex asked again. “Sunstreaker please. I can’t…I can’t do this. Please. Please kill me.” 

The Autobot’s servos shook as he caught Vortex’s helm, holding it in place, resting his forehelm against the interrogator’s. Sunstreaker tried again. “Vortex.”

But the Decepticon was having none of it. “I can’t live with him anymore. He won, he broke us. Please, this will be a blessing. End me.” 

He could feel Vortex’s desperation, his self-loathing and hatred. It made Sunstreaker feel weak, useless. What did he know? Megatron had destroyed them, weakened them and left them to rot. He hurt Vortex in ways Sunstreaker couldn’t imagine. 

The Autobot took a vent, drawing the interrogator’s face up to meet his, pressing their lips together and kissing him softly, lightly. Vortex responded out of habit, his own lips molding against Sunstreaker’s until the golden hued Autobot broke the kiss, his servos still tight on Vortex’s helm. “He hasn’t won yet.” Sunstreaker hissed, his lips still brushing the Decepticon’s. 

Vortex whined, trying to pull away but Sunstreaker held him. “He hasn’t! You don’t have to give in to him, you don’t have to do what he wants.” The interrogator paused, dull optics staring up at the golden mech, silent as Sunstreaker continued. “You’re better than this Tex, I know you are.” 

Vortex’s helm shook no, optics dropping again, but Sunstreaker caught the Decepticon’s chin, tilting it back up and catching his optics. “I once saw you take a direct hit from Grimlock. He pounded you into the ground, shattering your rotors and mast, yet you got back up and kept fighting.” Sunstreaker pressed his mouth to Vortex’s again, stealing a kiss, one that the interrogator was desperate to taste. “You’re better than he thinks of you, stronger than he thinks.” 

“I’m dead.” Vortex muttered, optics dim and believing the words he spoke. 

Sunstreaker shook his helm no. “You are still here!” he pressed a glossy black servo against Vortex’s chest, directly over his humming spark. “You are still here, right here.” He pressed a little harder into the Decepticon’s chest plates. “He can’t take that from you. Your spark is still here. And your memories,” the servo brushed his helm softly, such an action Vortex was not used to feeling. “Your memories are still with you. You are still you, just in a new frame.” 

Something sparked within Vortex, his optics flaring as he pressed into the touch. “A frame built with pathetic human materials! And my memories are fading to nothing. Soon I will be nothing and Megatron will have won! I am nothing but an echo.” Vortex coughed a bitter laugh. “My spark is tainted and dirty, there’s nothing left to it.” 

Sunstreaker pressed his mouth against Vortex’s again, the Decepticon humming into the soft kiss. “You’re frames are some of the most powerful on Earth.” The Autobot muttered against his lips, his grip on his helm tightening slightly until Vortex snarled and pulled away, Sunstreaker letting him while servos fell to boxy hips, the Autobot leaning back against the wall. 

The interrogator glanced away, heaving air through his vents, unusually quiet and optics unfocused. His helm shook, glossa peeking out to moisten his lips. “Ons doesn’t know how much longer we’ve got left. But our minds are...” He heaved a sigh, not looking directly at Sunstreaker. “Our minds are degrading. Our only hope is Hook and that he is able to save what he can, or to go to Megatron and hope he shows mercy.” 

Vortex made a bitter face, servos shaking suddenly as he swallowed hard. “He’ll give us to Shockwave.” The name was spat out. “And he will see us on our knees.” Rage coursed through Vortex, flaring in his EM and burning in his optics. “He’ll like it Sunny. He’ll destroy what little of us there is left, then he’ll kill us.” The dark helm shook again. “I won’t go back in the box and I won’t let Megatron destroy what is left of me.” 

The awkward silence grew between them again as Sunstreaker toyed with a seam at Vortex’s hip. The easy, gentle movement often helped to sooth the other, and it gave the Autobot time to find something useful to say. “I won’t let him.” Was all Sunstreaker could think of to say. “If he puts you back in your box, I will come for you. I will find you.” Lip caught between denta, Sunstreaker continued toying at his hip as he spoke. “I won’t let Shockwave have you.” A smirk flickered across the Autobot’s face. “I’ve fought far too hard to lose you to someone else.” 

Vortex managed an indignant snort as he shook his helm, optics rolling. “Like I need some knight in shining armour to care for me.” 

Sunstreaker snorted back at him, glad to see the smidgen of sarcasm back. “You’ve never needed anyone to care for you before Vortex, and I don’t doubt your ability to care of yourself now, but taking on Megatron or Shockwave is sort of a team effort.” Vortex grunted, a smirk playing at his mouth while Sunstreaker continued. “It’s what’s kept me and Sides alive all this time.” 

“So now I’m afforded the same protection as your twin.” The Decepticon asked sarcastically, settling a little more comfortably in the gold twin’s lap.

Sunstreaker’s servos stayed at Vortex’s hips, shrugging one shoulder. “Well, yes.” Red optics glanced up in surprise. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

Vortex canted his helm. “Well…because. You. I…” The Decepticon sighed. “Never mind Autobot.” The interrogator shook his helm, the self-loathing still there as Vortex struggled to hide it. “So tell me Autobot, if you were going to come and save the day,” he rolled his optics. “How would you do it?”

Snorting, Sunstreaker’s servos moved from hips and settled on the others thighs. “I’d capture you during battle and take you as a prisoner of war.” The frontliner shrugged. “Once Ratchet knew you were in need of repair he’d have to do it. His own morals and coding would demand it.” 

Vortex blinked at him before snorting and scrubbing at his optics with the palms of his servos. “You’re bloody nuts, you know that, right?” 

“You’re not the first to say this.” Sunstreaker shrugged again. “And really, the pot calling the kettle black much?” Confusion flickered through Vortex, not grasping the human quote. “Never mind.” 

“Sunstreaker.” Ruby optics rolled. “I’m not worth saving.” His tone was soft and weak. 

The Autobot sighed, again resting his helm against the Decepticon’s. “That’s a matter of opinion Vortex.” Silence hung once more as he picked out his next words. “You’re nuts and cruel, and wild. You remind me of a crazy Jazz, but you’re far more manipulative in ways he could never imagine.”

“All the more reason to just kill me now. It would be a mercy rather than force me to endure Megatron’s gloating.” 

A sad smirk spread across the front liner’s face, a servo coming to rest at a dent to Vortex’s side. “And yet I have never had more fun with anyone else. For an angry, evil Decepticon you certainly make me happy.” 

Vortex snorted. “Only because no one else can make you scream like I can.”

The sad smirk turned into an amused one. “There is that. But who else shoots minibots with me when they’re on patrol.” 

The interrogator made a noise, optics dimming. “For a vicious, nasty frontliner with a reputation worse than mine, you’re too soft.” 

Sunstreaker shrugged, thumb brushing the dent. “Who did that?” 

“Motormaster. He knows we’re weak…right now. He went at Ons the other day and we tried to get between.” Vortex left it at that. There was no reason the Autobot needed to know how far they had fallen, how badly they had failed. 

“Did you dismantle him?” Came the sharp, angry reply, to which Vortex remained silent. 

Sunstreaker frowned at the lack of a response, digits brushing the dent. “Vortex, the next time one of those Stunticons touches you, or your gestalt,” Vortex wilted, knowing a lecture of some kind was coming. “I want you to destroy them.” 

Vortex glanced up, optics bright with surprise as Sunstreaker continued. “They think to kick you around because you’re low. But you’re stronger than those muppets.” 

The interrogator suddenly barked a laugh, low and gravely. “Did you just call the Stunticons muppets?”

Sunstreaker drew back for a moment, looking abashed. “Was the only thing that fit.” 

Vortex’s helm shook, servos falling into Sunstreaker’s. “I don’t know why you bother, I‘ve done terrible things.” The Decepticon made a sour face, lip plates pursing. “I’ve hurt and mangled and tortured many a mech. Megatron locked me away once before for the things I’ve done, because he knew we were stronger, uncontrollable, and he’ll do it again.” Dim red optics glanced up. “I can’t go back into the box. I won’t make it through that again.” 

“Then don’t let him win.” Sunstreaker said, tone nearing desperation. “You’re more powerful than he is. Stronger. Nastier. You’ve never let Megatron get to you like this before. Don’t let him win now.” 

Vortex’s engine whined. “Not anymore. Sunstreaker, I’m nothing.” 

The frontliner’s helm shook, servos gently grasping the interrogator’s cheeks. “You are.” He rasped. “You are the meanest slagger this side of the universe. The meanest and the best at what you do. No one causes as much fear in the sparks of others as you do.” 

Crimson optics, hard and tinged with fear bore into Sunstreaker’s. “And he will break me.” 

“Vortex…” 

“No Sunstreaker, you don’t understand what Megatron will do to me.” Clawed servo grasped the jet black one and pressed it to his chest. “You can do me the favor of ending it quickly.” 

“Vortex…” Sunstreaker whined, his digits curling around the edges of the copter’s chest armour. 

“I’ve nothing to live for anymore, nothing to look forward to but pain and death. But you can do this now. You can crush my spark, and do this quickly.” 

The frontliner sighed, resting his helm against Vortex’s, thumb brushing the armour. Frown stretching across his mouth Sunstreaker’s tanks were in knots at the interrogator’s words, fear that he believed them, and sadness that he wasn’t enough of a reason to fight. “Vortex?”

“What?” 

“I love you.” Crimson optics shot up at those rarely spoken words, catching the Autobot’s, letting Sunstreaker continue. “And I know you’re stronger than this, and you won’t have to face this alone.”   
Optics dipping down, Vortex seemed to deflate. Shadows seemed to fill the room, trapping Vortex in his own mind with his demons, but Sunstreaker didn’t let him dwell for long. “You have my comm. All you need to do is call for me and I will come. I will find you Vortex, I won’t let you go back into a box and be forgotten about again.” 

Vortex refused to look at the Autobot. “Not worth it.” 

Sunstreaker’s large servos went back to the Decepticon’s face, tilting it back up. “I think you’re worth it.” 

The dim optics brightened and before Vortex could respond, Sunstreaker pressed his lips against the other’s scarred ones again, catching them in a soft, chaste kiss.

The Autobot pulled away for a moment, his lips still brushing the Decepticon’s. “You’re worth more than you realize Tex, and I will come for you if you need me. But you need to fight back, you need to stand against him and anyone who dares to hurt you.” 

Vortex rasped, rotors sinking low. “Weak.” 

Black servos roaming over dented plating, Sunstreaker cupped the copter’s aft, drawing him to his chest as he stood, his forehelm still resting against Vortex’s. “Not weak, and certainly not broken. You’re just a little dinged is all. A little bent.” 

Vortex said nothing as Sunstreaker lay him gently on his back, the frontliner’s powerful frame leaning over the copters. “But I need you to fight!” 

Gasping, Vortex arched into the frontliner’s mouth as it latched onto his throat, glossa teasing at the tubing, his own clawed servos teasing at seams. Sunstreaker caught Vortex’s wandering claws, grasping his wrists and pressing them into the berth on either side of his helm with the utmost care. Vortex’s EM a swirling mess of fear, want, desolation and a growing lust. 

“An echo.” Vortex rasped. “A fading memory.” 

Sunstreaker’s hot mouth slicked its way down his throat and along his collar armour, teasing glossa dipping into transformation seams as his servos glided down Vortex’s arms to his sides, scraping gently, pinching in the way Sunstreaker knew Vortex liked.

“Perfect.” Sunstreaker vented softly, the warm air gusting over the damp sensors, making Vortex shiver, his valve suddenly feeling very empty. “Deadly.” Every word was punctuated with a soft kiss to warming plating or a nip to a seam. “Handsome.” 

Vortex chuckled, suddenly feeling overly self-conscious at the frontliner’s words, not quite sure if he believed them. “Liar.” Vortex vented, despite how badly he wanted to believe what the Autobot told him, frame arching into the soft touches, loving the feel of someone touching him without pain. 

Sunstreaker crouched over his hips, servo trailing Vortex’s inner thighs, teasing softly, ensuring that every piece of armour that touched, was soothed and caressed. “Never lie to you.” He muttered, his mouth brushing a hip seam. 

Vortex moaned when the glossa pressed between the flanges of his hip seam, gliding to his closed interface panel, sliding hotly over the heated metal. Sunstreaker was surprised to find that the interrogator kept his servos clamped to the top of his berth, but paid little mind to that as he shimmied down a little further, his glossa licking a hot, wet stripe up the smoldering interface panel. 

Nudging the interrogator’s thighs apart, Sunstreaker nestled between them, sliding one over his shoulder as he nuzzled almost softly at the seam between his hip and leg. “Open for me Tex.” He husked softly, warm air venting smoothly over the damp array. 

Already Sunstreaker could smell the lubricants that pooled behind that closed panel, could feel the others want in his EM, could see it in every line in Vortex’s straining frame. “Always know how to make me feel better.” Came the muttered reply as the copter’s vents hitched, his hips arching at the other’s soft touch. 

The interface cover slid away, the cover to his valve and spike housing spiralling open, and Sunstreaker grinned when the thick spike, already pressurized, emerged. Thick and long, the thin plates that made up Vortex’s spike already flared outward and wide, expelling heat in a desperate attempt to cool itself.   
Sunstreaker nuzzled the proud appendage for a moment, admiring the swirling greys and black paint that made up the Decepticon’s spike; when the Autobot had begun this…thing with the other, Vortex had been overly self-conscious of his spike. It had been a plain gun metal grey and nowhere near as pretty or decorative as Sunstreaker’s own. 

In fact, Sunstreaker was sure Starscream had done nothing to any of the Combaticons spikes, besides placing the sensors in the correct places when he had rebuilt their frames; leaving them with plain, barely painted spikes. 

The Autobot had not cared what the interrogator’s spike had looked like, more than just mildly pleased with its size and ridged shape, but Vortex had cared, was almost ashamed and embarrassed at its plainness; Vortex came from a time where everyone ensured that their spikes were modified and crafted for beauty, and his embarrassment was to the point where Vortex refused to interface with the lights on, even going as far as to stop Sunstreaker from doing what he was about to do. 

It had taken several Earth weeks, and many more scraps between the two of them before Sunstreaker had finally gotten his answer as to why Vortex suffered from such insecurity when he was so well endowed; he thought he was ugly. 

So being the artist that he was, Sunstreaker had brought his art equipment with him during one of their romps, decorating the interrogators spike. It had been a slow process, one which had Vortex quietly overloading several times, much to Sunstreaker’s amusement, before the deed was done, leaving Vortex with a spike adorned with different hues of blacks and greys which swirled together, making delicate patterns along the ridges. The paint Sunstreaker had chosen was iridescent, casting a kaleidoscope of colour, adding to the incentive of fragging with the lights on…

Or outside.

Vortex panted into the dim light, his hips grinding against the brushing lips that touched his spike, his claws warping the metal at the head of his berth. Then a whine built deep from his chest as his legs fell open a little wider. “S-Sunny!”

Sunstreaker shuddered when the interrogator called his name like that, that deep whine that the Autobot was privileged to hear. His black servo wrapped around the other’s spike, thumb brushing the spike’s head, circling the slit, causing Vortex to groan and buck his hips. 

Grinning, Sunstreaker’s lips brushed at Vortex’s valve’s opening, humming softly against it, warm air brushing over the damp array. “Beautiful.” 

Vortex moaned, hips arching as Sunstreaker’s glossa lapped a soft circle at the outer most nodes of his valve. The Autobot chuckled as the Decepticon whimpered, hips swivelling in a desperate attempt to grind his valve against his moist lips. 

Humming in appreciation, Sunstreaker probed his glossa a little deeper, his grip on the boxy hips tightening a little as Vortex’s valve tried desperately to spiral down on the smooth appendage. Sunstreaker’s glossa slicked from the valve, dragging a reedy moan from the Decepticon before plunging back inside, the thin walls parting easily. Pleasure bloomed hot through his valve, spreading up into his belly, tingling down his thighs and into his pedes. 

“Suu-nnnney!” Vortex whined as he squirmed, crying softly out as his sensor net rippled wildly, his EM flickering.

Sunstreaker chuckled, his servo moving up and down the interrogator’s spike in even pulls, glossa dipping deeper into the other’s soaking channel. The Autobot nipped at the soft, pliable metal of the outside of Vortex’s valve before hot lips sealed around the tingling spot, suckling softly. 

Vortex gasped, crimson optics brightening in surprise as pleasure burned through him. Sunstreaker hummed again, glossa probing back inside, flicking against the lining. 

The Decepticon’s hot frame arched off his berth with a heavy moan and panting as Sunstreaker worked up his charge, shoving and pushing Vortex closer and closer to his impending overload. Then suddenly, Sunstreaker slowed down, glossa lapping gently at the interrogator and Vortex whined again, collapsing back down to his berth, hips wriggling in invitation. 

The interrogator’s spark burned hot, lubrication oozing between his thighs, valve rippling as Sunstreaker began to work Vortex’s charge again, Vortex becoming incoherent, lips moving rapidly as be muttered and babbled, something that sounded like, ‘oh gods yes!’, ‘don’t stop Sunny!’ and ‘oh Primus!’ 

Every time the interrogator got a little closer to overload, Sunstreaker would slow down, glossa lapping softly at the over sensitive valve, calming the Decepticon, bringing him down from his high only to build him back up, pushing his frame a little further, his charge a little higher; and Sunstreaker continued pushing him, his frame rapidly heating to a near breaking point, until Vortex couldn’t handle it any longer. 

The interrogator screamed out his charge as overload took him and swept through his frame, tiny bolts of blue electricity sparking from his joints, locking them up. 

Valve spiralling down tight around Sunstreaker’s glossa, trying to trap the slick appendage within its folds, the Autobot’s husky chuckle vibrated through the Decepticon as he came; his proud spike spurting transfluid onto his belly in silvery ropes, bright blue lubrication gushing down his thighs, wetting the Autobot’s already moist face, dripping between his thighs and onto his berth. 

As Vortex came down from his high, his powerful frame twitching as it relaxed against the soft berth beneath him, his vents heaved in an effort to cool his frame. 

Sunstreaker hummed softly as he climbed back up the Decepticon’s limp frame, stretching out over the other’s burning plating; mouth pressing against the Decepticon’s, glossa gently stroking. Vortex moaned against the Sunstreaker’s lips, sucking on his glossa, tasting himself before licking the Autobot’s face clean. 

Exhaustion suddenly filled Vortex’s EM as his lust died away, once again reminding Sunstreaker how drained the interrogator was. Shifting so they lay on their sides, Sunstreaker wrapped an arm around his lover’s middle, servo running softly along back plating while his other pillowed Vortex’s helm. 

The crimson optics that stared up at cobalt were wide and worried; Sunstreaker knew a quick interface wouldn’t fix Vortex, not by a long shot, but maybe it would give him enough incentive to at least fight. 

Maybe. 

“Don’t let him win.” Sunstreaker husked softly, mouth on Vortex’s again, lips smooth against the Decepticon’s scarred ones. “I’ll come for you, I swear it.” 

Vortex’s claws gripped Sunstreaker’s helm, pulling him closer, hips grinding, his spike pressed between them, desperate for friction. The former gladiator allowed the Decepticon to deepen the kiss, his own glossa lapping at the Autobot’s, demanding entry. 

Sunstreaker gave in, he always did to Vortex, allowing the copter to explore the moist cavern of his mouth; but the Autobot needed to hear the words, needed to hear Vortex say he wouldn’t give in to Megatron. 

He pulled away, a snarl of anger and a flash of disappointment his reward. “No, Tex. I need to hear you say it. You need to fight.”

The Decepticon stared back at him in annoyance and a flashing despair. “What if I can’t?” 

“Then you comm me. Any time.” 

“And you’ll come for me?” Sunstreaker nodded, servos still wrapped around the Decepticon. Vortex narrowed his optics, squinting at him. “What if I don’t believe you?” 

Frowning at the Decepticon, Sunstreaker should have expected this. They still were technically enemies, still on opposing factions. Why should Vortex trust him? 

“Because I still trust you after you interrogated me.” 

Vortex frowned. “Makes you a fool then.” 

Sunstreaker snorted. There was a time that a comment like that would have ignited his usually easy temper, but he had been with Vortex for far too long to let words like that bother him. The trust between them such a tentative, delicate thing. 

“I love you.” Sunstreaker uttered for the second time that night, causing crimson optics to flair in surprise. 

“Makes me the fool then, doesn’t?” 

Sunstreaker shrugged, arms curling tighter around Vortex; the golden mech the only one that the interrogator would allow his guard to drop around, the only one that he allowed to hold him like this. Sunstreaker had seen him at his weakest, his most depraved moments, and still came back for him. Time and time again. He had seen what Vortex had done to Brawn that one time, when the stumpy Autobot had nearly killed Brawl on the battle field, and yet Sunstreaker came back, claiming that he loved him.   
Vortex squirmed, an uncomfortable feeling flickering in his chest, the soft feeling that he ignored when Sunstreaker was around. 

“Vortex.” His name whispered like that, soft and worried, drew the other from his musings, focusing back in on the Autobot that had claimed him, in a way. “You need to fight.”

Vortex paused before he nodded. “I’ll try.” He rasped. 

Sunstreaker nodded knowing that was the best he was going to get as Vortex settled back down, tugging him closer as he slipped into recharge, Sunstreaker promising he’d still be there when he woke up.   
They had been apart for too long, neither quite ready to return to their daily lives without one good hard frag. No matter, Sunstreaker was a persistent mech, he could wait until Vortex woke up before they went into round two.

Besides, it would give Sunstreaker all the more time to figure out how he was going to get Vortex, and the other Combaticons, away from Megatron. 

***

Days passed, the twins had returned to the Ark and life went on. Megatron called the Combaticons out to battle and Sunstreaker had more fun than he would like to admit showing off his jet judo skills to Vortex as he took Skywarp from the sky. 

The twins were just glad to see their lovers outside of their base, looking healthier than the last time they had seen them, meaner even. Sideswipe had mentioned how he caught them all glowering at Megatron every moment he wasn’t looking at them. 

Vortex especially; visor flashing brightly, anger clearly visible in every clean line of his stance as he watched Megatron from behind him. Claws twitching as though they longed to sink into the larger mech’s soft under belly and rip out his fuel pump. 

Sunstreaker felt his spark freeze when he noticed Motormaster watching the interrogator, a nasty smirk on his face, thick glossa racing across a thick bottom lip. It was enough to make the golden Autobot’s spark race and hatred flood his lines. 

He was about to react, about to race to the interrogator and take him hostage, play keep away with Motormaster, but Megatron called the retreat and before Sunstreaker could act, Vortex was gone. His lithe frame taking off into the air with the others, disappearing from sight. 

Panicked, Sunstreaker tried Vortex’s private comm, tried to warn the other but to no avail, and he wondered if this would be the day Vortex would comm him from the Nemesis for help. 

When no call for help came Sunstreaker expected the worse, sneaking from the Ark and calling to Blast Off for a ride. When he arrived at Combaticon HQ neither Onslaught or Vortex were to be seen, both kept back by Megatron after the others were dismissed, and Sunstreaker expected Vortex to come back to his base damaged, harmed, violated; more of an emotional wreck than he normally was. 

The wait for Onslaught and Vortex’s return from their meeting with Megatron nearly killed the Autobot, the fear of what could be happening to them very real; and when Vortex walked into his quarters, covered helm to pede in bright pink energon, Sunstreaker was so relieved and afraid at the same time.   
He gasped softly at the other’s bloodied state, ignoring how Vortex’s visor brightened in surprise when he saw him, mask drawing away, showing his too clean face and the nasty smirk that pulled at his mouth. 

The visor came next, the blood red optics bright with lust, tinted with madness and blood thirst. His frame was warm from battle and taut with the need to move. But Sunstreaker saw none of this; he only saw his bloodied lover and rage hit him like an attack from Menasor.

Vortex was the first to move, crossing the room to throw Sunstreaker against his wall, the slightly larger frame covering the frontliner’s, his hot mouth on the Autobot’s. The interrogator’s claws were trailing down golden armour, curling under Sunstreaker’s chest plate. 

The Autobot moaned into the kiss, his chest arching into the touch before his mind played catch up and reality crashed into him. Servos shooting to bloodied shoulders, Sunstreaker pushed Vortex away just enough to break the possessive kiss. 

Snarling, Vortex’s claws scratched at the golden Autobot’s paint job, canine denta bared at the mech who had stopped him. Sunstreaker paid him no heed, servos on his lover’s cheeks, twisting his helm this way and that, servos running quickly down side plating, digging rapidly into seams before moving on; Vortex snarled. None of this was what he wanted.

“Where are you injured?” Sunstreaker snapped, his need to stop the bleeding overriding his ever present lust for the Combaticon. 

Vortex blinked at him. “What?”

Sunstreaker’s face came back in line with his own, ensuring that Vortex was listening carefully to him. “Where are you bleeding from? Where are you hurt?” 

Vortex felt himself step back from the killing edge, his need to act, to move, to feel something draining away briefly as he regarded the Autobot. “The energon’s not mine.” 

Sunstreaker’s servos tightened on his plating for a moment, surprise flicking through his optics. “It’s not?” 

“No.” Vortex said slowly, his anger returning. 

The Autobot swallowed hard. “Then who’s is it?” 

Vortex grinned, relishing in the memory of what he had just done; recalling the lovely sounds of joints popping, struts snapping and a fuel pump being torn from a thrashing body as he crushed a screeching vocaliser. “Motormaster’s.” 

Sunstreaker sagged in relief at the interrogator’s sing song tone, still not taking notice of how keenly Vortex still rode the killing edge, how the smallest of things would set him off again. The former gladiator was just relieved that Vortex had not given in to Motormaster. 

Tugging the interrogator into a tight embrace, Sunstreaker hugged him for all his worth, pressing the super-heated, taut frame to his own, causing Vortex to freeze; his raged soaked mind not able to comprehend what his lover was doing. 

Just as quickly Sunstreaker let him go, servos back on his cheeks, vents heaving a sigh. “I’m glad you’re okay.” The Autobot said gruffly, thumb running along the other’s lower lip. 

Vortex’s engine hitched at the soft touch. The best part about Sunstreaker was that he was unafraid of him when his mind was scrambled, when his impulse control was non-existent and his violent threshold so much lower than normal. Sunstreaker always touched him like this, the gentleness so at odds with his need to hurt that it made the soft touches feel all the more exciting, all the more sensitive; that touch to his lower lip setting his sensor net on fire as pleasure tingled through him.

Suddenly clawed servos grasped the Autobot’s wrists as he slammed Sunstreaker back against the wall a little harder, knocking the air from the Autobot with an oooff! 

Sunstreaker’s optics brightened for a moment before darkening to the lusty cobalt that drew Vortex in.   
The wicked smirk reappeared on Vortex’s face as he pulled the Autobot’s servos to his frame, pressing one to his spread rotors. He leaned in a little, whispering “Touch me Autobot” darkly as he pressed Sunstreaker’s other servo to his already hard spike, grinding against the golden mech’s body. Sunstreaker’s own wicked grin spread across his face as he allowed himself to be pressed into the wall, melting into the rough touches the Combaticon offered. His own servos pinching and pulling and soothing in the ways Sunstreaker knew Vortex liked when he was in this state of mind. 

Vortex groaned, grinding against him. “Harder!” he spat, his pace almost becoming frantic, Motormaster’s spilt energon spreading onto the golden frame. 

Sunstreaker paid his plating no mind for now, soon enough they’d be in the wash wracks and he’d clean his crazy little interrogator, and the though made Sunstreaker purr. 

“Harder!” Vortex demanded again as he nipped at Sunstreaker’s throat.

Sunstreaker gave a throaty chuckle, understanding Vortex’s need, his blood lust and his need for action as his battle protocols spiralled back down. “Yes Vortex.” The usually aggressive Autobot husked in the way one would say Yes Master. 

Vortex moaned, his vents becoming ragged pants as Sunstreaker did as he demanded; his grip becoming harder, his touch more insistent. It was not often that Sunstreaker allowed himself to be so submissive, but Vortex loved it when he was. 

That smaller, perfect frame, giving and receiving pleasure because of him made Vortex’s mouth water and his spike twitch violently. His claws dug into hip seams hard enough to hurt, leaving thick claw marks in their wake as Vortex tugged his Autobot closer. 

Sunstreaker’s helm fell back against the wall, his own protocols running high while pleasure bloomed through him just after the pain, moaning his lover’s name. Vortex chuckled again, mouth back on Sunstreaker’s throat, servo shoving his interface panel aside, claw circling his rim. 

A hazy though flitted through Sunstreaker’s mind, that maybe he didn’t have to worry so much about Vortex anymore, that his will, his fight had finally come back. The Autobot would keep his promise, he would come for his Combaticon should he ever call him, and he would find a way to steal him away from Megatron. 

Then all coherent thought faltered when Vortex sunk home, his spike sliding inside Sunstreaker with practise ease, stretching the Autobot, his valve already moist from just thinking of this perfect moment. Pleasure bloomed hot over the pain of such a quick thrust, but Vortex waited, held his frame impossibly still as he waited for Sunstreaker to adjust. 

Only when he felt his lover relax once more, leaning into his touch again, did Vortex pick up a strong gold leg and set it on his hip, forcing Sunstreaker to balance on a single pede. Determined to make his lover scream his name Vortex set a heady, desperate pace, igniting hot, wet pleasure throughout the Autobot; and all Sunstreaker could do was hang on to the Combaticon, gasping out his name. 

Oh yes, his Vortex was back, and as his lover thrust hard into his wanting body, Sunstreaker couldn’t help but feel nothing but relieved.


End file.
